


Interrogation

by Serena Saint-Marceaux (Kalira)



Category: Original Work
Genre: (No really. Right? Considering the title I'm sure you're shocked.), Bondage, Dubious Consent, Flashfiction challenge, Interrogation, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Space Opera, flashfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Serena%20Saint-Marceaux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyrel is an Alliance Interrogator, tasked with getting information from captured Rebels without breaking any of the Directives on Proper Treatment of Prisoners. He has a new informant to work with. . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to Chuck Wendig's '[Smashing Sub-Genres](http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/05/10/flash-fiction-challenge-smashing-sub-genres/)' Flashfiction challenge.
> 
> I rolled a d20 and got: Space Opera & BDSM Erotica. I had some odd, interesting ideas (though neither genre is really my _specialty_ or anything) but when constrained to a 1,000 word limit . . . decided to go a little simpler instead. (With a little brainstorming with a friend first.)

Kyrel trailed the bare tips of his fingers over pale skin as he walked around the Rebel he had so handily restrained.

It was a smooth, thorough job, if he said so himself. He stopped at one end of the table, looking up the length of the Rebel’s body.

His legs were folded, straps looped in an eternity pattern around each ankle and thigh, then buckled to the table, and each wrist was bound by a broad strap, which connected with a short length of chain to another, buckled just above his elbows, and locked to the table as well.

A web of more straps worked around his shoulders, torso, and hips, dark material highlighting his pale skin - as well as his cock, hard within another set of straps that tightly wound at the base and around his balls.

“So, Sergeant. . . Are we ready to talk about our friends yet?” Kyrel asked, running a light caress of knuckles up each inner thigh, and rubbing the tip of his index finger just beneath the head of the Rebel’s cock.

He jumped, with a whine, and tried to push his hips up.

Kyrel had teased him thoroughly through the process of binding him - his cock was still slick with spit - and the man had done well not to even say his name yet.

Kyrel knew he would speak properly eventually, though - he would _want_ to.

Kyrel walked up one side of the table again, leaning over his informant. He smiled, looking into deep green eyes, and swept a lock of red-blonde hair away from the man’s face without touching him otherwise.

“I don’t expect you to care, Alliance, but this treatment-”

Kyrel bent and kissed the words from his informant’s mouth, with a chuckle. “If you don’t want to come, don’t talk to me. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, after the allowed holding period, I will turn you free without a mark save those sustained in your capture.” he said, his voice low and husky.

The man whimpered as Kyrel nipped his lower lip. Kyrel smirked as he straightened, trailing the smooth backs of his nails over the man’s slender chest, tracing a spiral around one peaked nipple.

“If you don’t talk to me, I won’t touch you.” Kyrel promised, raising an eyebrow. “At all.” he added, stroking one finger up the underside of the man’s cock, setting the tiny studs on the bindings there to vibrating.

Kyrel’s informant cried out, arching his back as far as he could, his hips twitching.

Smiling smugly, Kyrel braced one hip against the table and crossed his arms as the man fought himself still once more, his teeth gritted against the frustrating pleasure.

“You know, I’ll make you come harder than you ever have, if you only tell me. . .”

Another thin whimper slipped between the Rebel’s teeth, and Kyrel clicked his tongue quietly, waiting - tempting as it was to slide his hands over the sweaty, pale skin.

_“Proximity alert; proximity alert. Rebel ship Silent Band to make hull contact in twenty seconds. . .”_

Kyrel tilted his head, impressed that any of the ships had gotten so close, but turned his attention back to the now-hopeful man bound to his table.

He smiled. “My duty in emergency situations is to remain at my post.” he said easily. “You won’t be seeing me gone so soon. The ship will be swatted away quickly enough without _my_ help.”

Kyrel settled in to watch as his informant trembled and strangled back moans, getting more and more flushed, sweat seeping slowly through his long hair, darkening it and accentuating the waves.

He was really quite impressive - the Rebel ship had been repelled and captured before the man began to make noise, broken free before he began to sob with need, and begun to fight again by the time he finally broke.

No small feat, considering how _very_ thoroughly Kyrel had done his job beforehand, and the man’s condition now. Kyrel was actually rather pleased.

“Damn it, fucking hell, _please_!” the Rebel begged roughly. “What- Oh, _ohh_. . .” he trailed off, panting raggedly. “What can I tell you, fuck, please?”

Kyrel grinned toothily. As a reward for his capitulation, even if he hadn’t given up any information yet, Kyrel stroked callused palms up the man’s thighs, waist, and ribs.

Then he harshly twisted one nipple, prompting a short, startled scream and more panting, mixed with a litany of pleading.

Kyrel made a small sound himself, pressing his hand to his belly, just above the low dip of his waistband, concentrating until his own arousal receded slightly.

He continued to touch and tease - and torment - as he was slowly given every little bit of information he had wanted amid the Rebel’s further pleading and the sharp noises of ecstasy.

“That’s everything, isn’t it. . .” Kyrel asked, voice low, murmuring into his informant’s ear and receiving a confused nod and a nervous whine.

“Don’t worry,” Kyrel reassured him, trailing firm fingers over splashes of redness on the pale skin, prompting breathy moans and whimpers from the man, “I won’t abandon you now I’ve got what I need.”

Kyrel laughed, low and soft, at the man’s expression - he hadn’t considered that until Kyrel had spoken, too lost with pleasure, and now it had struck him worryingly.

Kyrel pressed a finger beneath one of the straps binding the man’s cock, tugging lightly and making him shout. The pleasure of being touched, the slight shift in the bindings, the pain of being denied, the bindings tight against his cock. . .

Kyrel freed his cock in one smooth motion and squeezed the base hard enough to restrain his orgasm. He bent and dragged his tongue up the over-sensitised flesh slowly, then paused, his lips almost resting against the shaft, just beneath the head.

“Now you can come.” Kyrel murmured, smirking.


End file.
